


She sounds like the songs you used to sing to put me to sleep

by orphan_account



Series: All Alone. [3]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Consensual underage, Frottage, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, i feel really awkward now having written this, well sort of sex? i guess you could call it that it's more like mutual masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WARNING: shota-ish, not all that explicit. Many states within the US consider 16 to be the age of consent. I am trying to write this as realistically as I can, in terms of what people in this situation might be feeling. Please keep in mind that this is a <i>work of fiction</i>, and that it does not mean I either condone or condemn such relationships.</p><p>REFERENCE: The book <i>Lolita</i> by Vladimir Nabakov (Nabokov?) is mentioned. I've only just started reading it, but have heard a lot about it. It tells the life story of a pedophile, who specifically marries Lolita's mother (stepmother?) so that he can be closer to prepubescent Lolita. After the (step?)mother dies, he and Lolita are together, and he knocks up Lolita for the specific purpose of having another Lolita - hence the term Lolita --> lolicon - by the time the original becomes too old for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She sounds like the songs you used to sing to put me to sleep

Eventually, Clark had to give up on the idea that he’d ever had any control over his son to begin with. He considered getting a Chin’s Petition against the boy, but doing so would probably be a lot more trouble than it was worth. If Luke was dead-set on acting out, then there was nothing Clark could do to change his mind. Luke had always been determined, stubborn, and far too smart for his own good.

Besides which, the press coverage would be a bloody nightmare. He was foreign delegate, for God’s sake. Trying to take any legal action against his own son would have just reflected poorly on himself. He heard the way these Americans talked about children, and everything was always blamed on the parent. He’d think it rather ageist, had he not been having issues with Luke. Of course, the thought had occurred to him that Luke’s behaviour was his fault. Maybe he’d let Luke take too many liberties as a child, spoiled him too much. The Tritons were wealthy, after all. Maybe he should have said ‘no’ to him more often.

Or maybe, he should have just left him back in London with the Professor. That thought had occurred to him as well, but it wasn’t one he liked to dwell on. It was heart-breaking and more than just a tad mortifying to realise that your child adopted their own surrogate parent in your stead, but it stung worse that Layton had started out as _his_ friend – not Luke’s. He was still peeved at Luke for forging his signature, but that was yet another indiscretion for which his son received no punishment. How could Clark do such a thing when the boy was hardly ever around – either out with Layton and Emmy, or locked up in his room?

And there was another thought to reminisce on, another failure Clark contemplated as he heard the tick of the front door shutting, out of tune and rhythm with the clock on the wall signifying it being well past two AM. ‘Where have you been?’ he demanded of Luke, nearing seventeen and sullen as ever. Luke didn’t respond verbally – he never did, hadn’t in the nearly three years they’d been away – but glared in the general direction of his father before heading up to his room.

Clark did the only thing he could think to do: sigh, and give up. He couldn’t keep Luke from sneaking out of the house when the boy was ten years-old. What in the world made him think he could keep a teenager with a learner’s permit from leaving?

The Professor wanted to burn the letter when it came in, but that would have been very un-gentlemanly. There was also the fact that Flora had read it as well, and was bubbling at the idea of visiting America for the first time. If for no other reason, Layton couldn’t stand to let Flora down.

But the letter still made him so angry. Clark had always been a tad presumptuous (it came along with being a politician, after all), but the letter made Layton want to deny Clark’s request out of spite. If it hadn’t been for Flora’s excitement and his genuine concern for Luke’s well-being, he would have said no simply out of spite. Or better yet, send Clark a full dissertation on the various reasons his answer was negative. But he also recognized the great risk he ran of Luke taking the rejection personally, even if he did know nothing of Clark’s letter. Layton had been suspecting for some time that Clark monitored what little communication the two had managed before it was entirely cut off, and the last thing in the world he wanted was for Luke to feel rejected by him, of all people.

(Secretly, he was rather proud of Luke for giving his father such a hard time. He didn’t want to think it, but the words _serves you right for tearing us apart_ entered his mind anyway. His mind was a thing he couldn’t control, and asking an allowance for its thoughts should be considered a relatively reasonable request.)

Flora was packed and ready to go several weeks before their arrival was due. The Professor had kept his response short and as sweet as he could manage it, without it sounding so terribly fake. They travelled by boat so that Flora could take pictures (and send them to Clive, though the Professor was adamantly denying that bit) of the scenery as it passed. Layton spent a good lot of time, if not the entire trip, wondering how much had changed and trying his hardest not to be sick. He wasn’t sure which was worse: the motion-sickness, or his own anxiety.

Clark was waiting for them by the docks. He and the Hershel exchanged what felt like a stern greeting, but if Flora found it odd she didn’t remark on it. Clark spent the drive back to their home conversing with Flora in a manner that Layton found condescending – and yet again, which Flora didn’t comment upon. Perhaps she was so used to being coddled that she couldn’t recognise when she was being patronised to. Clark wasn’t interested that she’d picked up photography as a hobby (though her photographs were, in all truth, quite beautiful). He just wanted to avoid starting a conversation with Layton.

Flora giggled at the end of some innocuous sentence, and gasped. ‘I’m sorry! I’ve kept the two of you from talking,’ she peeked behind her at Layton’s still and stoic form. ‘The two of you must have a lot of catching up to do. After all, it’s been…how long since the two of you have seen one another?’

‘A while,’ Layton answered, not moving his gaze from the car’s window. ‘But it’s fine. We can talk later.’

‘Yes,’ Clark jumped in. ‘Tell me more about this chap you’re seeing – Clive, you said his name was?’

And that was when Layton really tuned their conversation out.

* * *

‘…and he does this every day. I swear the child hates me,’ Clark grumbled. Layton, ever the gentleman, refrained from responding.

‘Oh, I very much doubt that,’ Flora commented, sipping her tea. ‘He’s never said anything bad about you before. Has he, Professor?’

Layton shook his head, still staring at the front door. Their current residence was rather modest in comparison to the home they’d occupied in Misthallery, but it was still a good sight more impressive than any house in which Layton had lived. Flora, on the other hand, had definitely seen better. But again, rubbing her good fortune in the faces of others was simply not her style. Hershel could commend her for that, and very often did. Now, though, he simply wished she could be rude in his place.

Layton excused himself from the room on the premise of needing to check something in his luggage. Of course they were staying at the Triton’s, despite Layton saying several times he had no issue booking a hotel room. He knew that Clark’s generosity wasn’t the reason he “wouldn’t hear of it,” but that he was convinced neither Luke nor Layton would try anything odd whilst Clark was sleeping under the same roof.

‘You’ve been quiet since we got here,’ Flora commented. Layton was surprised to find her, hands clasped behind her back, admiring a pictures of immediate family hung on the wall. ‘I’m guessing this really isn’t just a friendly social call?’

Layton smiled at his own misjudgement. Of course Flora realised that something was wrong. She always had been much smarter and much more capable than he ever remembered to give her credit for. ‘You picked up on that?’ he asked warily.

Flora gave a nearly imperceptible nod. ‘The two of you have barely talked to one another, despite swearing up and down that you were the best of friends. It’s awkward, I know, to see good friends after such a long time. But this hesitation between you two – it’s more than just the typical nervous excitement of a long-awaited encounter. The two of you are not on good terms, and something’s wrong with Luke.’ Flora turned to her mentor, regarding him with sad eyes. ‘Please tell me what’s wrong?’

The Professor paused, uncertain how to explain the situation without frightening her. ‘Clark and I have, for some time, been debating the way Luke has…been raised.’

Flora nodded. ‘I’ve read the letters.’

The Professor blinked and turned to face her fully, taken aback. ‘If you already understood, Flora, dear girl, then why ask me to recount the situation for you?’

‘Just because I have read does not mean I have understood,’ she corrected. ‘And I wanted to hear it from you. I do not always trust what others tell me, no matter how gullible I may seem to you.’ Layton blushed and looked down, not wanting to admit how often he had assumed she was naïve to the way the world worked.

‘Is it true?’ she asked timidly. Layton looked up to find her eyes fixed in a focused stare. Eyebrows lowered – not glaring, but determined. Then, more firmly, she expanded. ‘Did you touch Luke without his consent?’

Layton closed his eyes, marvelling in her wording. The world which was so black and white to a vast majority of people, was all one blur of grey to Flora. ‘No,’ he answered. ‘But I have been more affectionate with him than is deemed socially acceptable.’

‘Clive explained that might be the case,’ Flora said. ‘But I still don’t comprehend why that is so bad. Wouldn’t people just assume you are his father?’

Layton smiled sadly, not looking at her so much as through her. ‘I had an assistant once, a woman named Emmy. When the three of us were together, people did often assume that we were a family. No one questioned if we held hands, or hugged, or became frightened when one of us was in peril. But when Emmy left, our social status shifted.’

‘So because you are a man, you are not permitted to be loving or caring toward others?’ Flora demanded, clearly infuriated on the Professor’s behalf.

‘With you, it is different. Father-daughter relationships are admired by society. But people would feel I was giving Luke the…’ he clicked his tongue against his teeth in search of the correct words. ‘Wrong message. There are psychologists who believe that parental relationships are the main factors in a child’s _leaning_ as an adult, if you understand, Flora?’

‘So there is a correct way to lean now?’ she asked.

‘Flora, dear, there has always been a correct way to lean, and it is not in the same direction.’

‘But – there are people –‘ She flailed.

‘And they are on the fringes of society,’ the Professor agreed. ‘And they are also adults. That is a very essential thing for you to remember, Flora. There are laws regulating appropriate and inappropriate behaviour. Consenting adults may break them with little to no consequence, but the key words there are “consent” and “adult.”’

‘Meaning?’ Flora demanded.

‘That children cannot give consent.’ Flora blinked slowly, taking in the information. ‘There is a very particular reason why Bruno was made to wait to send for help in regarding the matters of your estate. The trials St Mystere set up for visitors were not meant to find you a guardian, dear Flora, but a husband.’

‘No!’ Flora gasped, backing up slightly.

Layton laughed. ‘Surely you do not find me that repulsive?’

‘No!’ she back-tracked. ‘It’s just – well, you are like family to me, you and Luke. The idea is… confusing, to say the least. It is difficult to ever imagine either of you occupying a different role.’

‘I am very glad to hear that,’ Layton responded softly. ‘But I’m afraid our conversation must come to an end. Luke should be arriving home relatively soon, and Clark may wonder what we have gotten up to in the hallway.’

Flora cringed her nose at the mere suggestion, but schooled her face into something less worrisome as she walked out to the main dining area.

Luke had already returned and was slouching in a dining room chair, arms folded, hat askew on the back of his head. He looked in boredom at the kitchen table, hoping to find some sort of pattern or hidden puzzle in the stains on the wood. He nearly fell out of his chair when Flora entered.

‘Flora!’ he shouted, and rushed from his chair to greet her. He had grown quite a bit in their time apart, and he now looked down on her, at least a head taller. His arms enveloped her tiny frame, and she giggled as she hugged him back, holding onto the fabric of his blazer to gather in the reality of it all. She also tried – unsuccessfully – not to choke on the stench of tobacco and alcohol, of which he reeked.

‘Oh, yeah,’ he blushed. ‘Sorry about that.’ Luke looked directly behind her, breath held, and saw the person he had been hoping and praying to see during all the time they’d been separated. ‘Professa’,’ he whispered. He came to stand far too close to the man, his friend, his teacher. Layton was still a tad taller, so it was on his toes that Luke stood to wrap his arms around Layton’s neck. Behind Luke’s back, Clark studied his former friend carefully. Layton felt trapped, not wanting to give either Triton the wrong impression. His left hand went to steady his hat, while his right took place on Luke’s upper back, steadying him. He meant to keep his eyes on Clark through the brief hug, but he allowed himself one moment of weakness to pretend like things weren’t as strained as they were.

As they pulled away, Luke whispered, ‘It’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you so much.’ The look he gave Layton was still as full of reverence as it had been on all of their adventures together. Like he was some sort of ideal to Luke, a hero in some fashion.

The look didn’t last long as he turned to Flora. ‘You too! The Professor’s too busy to write letters to silly little kids, but what’s you’re excuse?’

Flora feigned offense, one hand fluttering to her chest. ‘What makes you think I’m not busy as well?’

‘Busy doing what?’ he teased, following up with a terrible southern accent, ‘Beatin’ off gentleman callers with a stick?’

‘No,’ Layton quipped with a knowing smirk. ‘I think Clive does that for her.’

The expression on Luke’s face made the glare with which Flora was now gracing him all the while. ‘No!’ Luke shouted. ‘You and Clive? Really?’

‘So you know this man?’ Clark asked. He sounded unamused, yet resigned.

Luke went rigid as he turned to his father. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do, in fact.’

The air in the room dropped temperatures, or so Flora could have sworn, as the group regarded each other with hostile auras.

‘So,’ Flora chirped. ‘Is there some sort of big event, or something?’

Layton marvelled at the change in his adopted daughter. At one point in time, she’d made for a terrible liar and she couldn’t hide to save her life. If there was anything good that Clive had been teaching her over the weeks (or had it been months?), it was how to lie smoothly.

‘Well,’ Clark cleared his throat. ‘As Luke has so generously demonstrated, I simply cannot get him to behave.’ Behind Clark, Luke rolled his eyes. ‘However, I recall him speaking very highly of the two of you, and thought that perhaps he would listen to some old friends.’

‘You mean you manipulated my friends into coming here to train me?’ Luke demanded.

But his father, too, could be stubborn and determined and lie. He ignored the outburst, smiling at his guests and saying. ‘Now I think you know where your rooms are! Have a good rest, my friends.’

* * *

Luke had never quite learned to contain his emotions. It was a youthful attribute of his which seemed to grow intensity with his age, as opposed to becoming more refined and controlled. One of the good things about his residing in America was how little people here about hiding their feelings. Repression seemed to be a technique only the Europeans held dear, and he understood why others found it so frustrating.

It was without preamble that he stormed into Layton’s room, interrupted his reading by loftily taking his book from his hands and tossing it across the room, cupped Layton’s face in his hands, and kissed him.

Layton should have said no. There were so many times in their past in which Layton should have said no, should have pushed Luke off, should have explained to him why this type of contact was wrong. But he never did. Not even once. He had never been able to deny anything of Luke, no matter how inappropriate the gesture or expensive the item. He would willingly give Luke anything he wanted, and that thought alone was enough to scare him. It made his blood run cold and he felt he was going mad. He stayed up at night, pondering his morals and wondering if society would be better off with him dead. Clearly it must have meant he was perverted.

It wasn’t a case of _Lolita_. He wasn’t interested in Luke’s age and had no intention of ever discarding Luke for a younger friend or apprentice. He didn’t have sexual fantasies regarding the boy, but Luke did mean the world to him, and that was the only way he dealt with himself most nights. It was a different kind of love entirely, one Layton knew would be immediately misunderstood by the world – except, maybe, Flora, and Luke himself.

(And Clive, but the Professor hadn’t caught up to that thought yet.)

Layton made no move to pull Luke away, nor did he make any suggestion for him to move closer, but Luke was insistent. He continued to kiss the Professor repeatedly, caressing the man’s cheekbones with his thumbs. He moved to straddle his lap where he sat on the bed, tilting Layton’s head back slightly as he moved and supporting Layton’s neck with one hand. Oddly, the only thing the Professor could think at such an instance was _he must have been practicing this_.

And indeed, his movements did seem rehearsed – not insincere, but too steady and too sure too fluid to be pure whimsy. The moment might have been spur, but the actions were pre-planned.

Luke pulled back just enough to rest their foreheads together, and Layton had to close his eyes and wish it all away. Luke let his hands fall to fist in Layton’s shirt and whispered, ‘I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. I always have, Professor.’ His tone had grown deep as it so often did after boys advanced through puberty, and even with his eyes closed it was easy for Layton to tell the differences. Luke’s hands had become calloused, he was lanky enough for him to be crouched, their knees met, and still be at eye-level. He weighed a considerable amount more as well. Not overly heavy, but also not the weight of a child. Luke hadn’t grown to be as skinny as Clark at that age, genes which must have come from his mother.

‘Please say you love me too,’ Luke whispered. Layton could feel the tremble in the tenor. The insecurity that laid there was childish. Or perhaps it wasn’t; weren’t adults privy to the same fears? ‘And please don’t be lying,’ Luke begged. ‘Please.’

He knew this conversation was serious, that he should have lied to Luke. It would have been safer for them both. But Luke had been the one constant he’d had in his life since Claire, and there was no use in pretending he didn’t feel something, no matter how awful a person that might have made him. ‘I do,’ he said, equally soft, ‘and I’m not.’

Luke took the words as permission and started to kiss his mentor again. They were rushed, feverish, and he crawled as close to the Professor’s body as he could get. The Professor let his arms drape around Luke’s body, and relaxed enough to let himself be kissed, to kiss back in return. He wanted to be gentle, and put his hands on Luke’s hips to still his movements, trying to push Luke’s tongue back into its own mouth. Luke struggled against the hold and thrust, accidentally, against the Professor’s hip.

The Professor tried not to move or give off any sort of reaction, but Luke gasped, shuddering slightly, and reattached his lips to Layton’s and repeated the move. Layton felt stuck, as always, between doing what was proper and going with the natural progression of relationships – an issue he’d had with Claire, with Emmy. He didn’t move his hands or tighten his grip. He didn’t push Luke off, or tell him no, or give him any easier access. Luke simply continued what he was doing, rubbing himself along the line of Layton’s hip until he broke their kiss off again to give a muffled sob into Layton’s neck as shuddered, jolted, and came.

Luke panted into the Professor’s neck, unable to determine what was meant to come next. He reached down for Layton’s own member, only to have his hand taken by the wrist and moved away. For one of very few times in his life, that he could recall, the Professor said ‘No’ to Luke Triton.

As expected, Luke was hurt and confused. ‘You don’t want me -?’ he asked, purposefully leaving the question open-ended.

Layton shook his head. ‘It isn’t a matter of what I do or do not want, Luke. It’s a matter of what is appropriate and what is legal.’

Luke shook his head in frustration. ‘I’m of the age of consent in this state –‘

‘To be with someone within three years of your age range, yes,’ Layton confirmed. ‘I looked that up before coming here.’

Luke appeared an odd combination of flattered and confused. ‘You researched the age of consent before coming to see me?’

Layton lowered his eyes. ‘Your father mentioned that you have been getting into a lot of trouble recently. I thought it might be prudent to research the various forms of trouble into which you might be getting.

‘The fact remains, Luke, that in the eyes of the law you are a child. What just happened was scandalous enough, but I cannot permit you to lay a hand on me. To do so would violate not only law, but several ethical codes as well. Do you understand?’

Luke had refused to meet his gaze for several minutes now, staring off into a space at the bottom-right corner of the room. Without responding, he leapt from the bed and hurried out the door.

The Professor felt in a place that was perhaps his gut that this moment was a pivotal one, and that making an incorrect decision could cost him a great deal of things – not the least of which was Luke’s friendship and trust. He jumped up from where he sat, and hurried after Luke, managing to trail him to a tree in the front yard.

‘Why are you following me?’ Luke snapped.

‘Because I care about you,’ Layton responded tiredly.

‘No you don’t,’ his reply was bitter and angry, showing off layers of hurt he’d kept remarkably well stored-away. ‘You wouldn’t have stopped writing if you cared so much.’

Layton huffed. ‘My dear boy, do you really think that was my idea? That I wanted to cease all communication with you?’ Luke quieted, but didn’t turn around to face his teacher. ‘Your father requested that I stop responding to our letters. He considered our friendship unhealthy, and accused me of many things which could ruin me. They could ruin you too, Luke, if these rumours – true or not – got out.’

‘That’s why you’ve been so cold since you got here. Why you… why you didn’t hug me back.’

‘Yes,’ Layton confirmed. ‘Unless you wish to see me put in jail, we absolutely cannot discuss what transgressed here tonight.’

‘I don’t, Professa’,’ Luke said lamely.

Layton smiled, sadly. ‘There’s another thing, Luke. Despite your declaration of independence and adulthood…why do you still refer to me as Professor?’

Luke blinked in confusion. ‘Because it’s an honorary title,’ he said seriously.

Layton shook his head. ‘In the event that you would still like to…pursue a relationship with me, after you have come of age… that would be most inappropriate. It would mean that you do not see me as an equal, but as a superior. Such relationships are inherently wrong. By some standard, it would mean that I am taking advantage of you, and I have no wish to do that.’

‘So we can be together after I turn eighteen?’ Luke asked.

Layton laughed and shook his head. ‘That’s all you got away from my little speech?’

‘Well what am I supposed to call you, if not Professa’?’

‘Well, you could always call me Layton, like Emmy used to,’ he suggested. ‘Or you could call me Hershel. That is my name, after all.’

‘Hershel,’ Luke said, trying the sound out on his tongue. It didn’t feel as foreign to him as he expected it would. ‘Alright. But don’t expect me to behave just because you’re here. There are a lot of things you’ve missed while I’ve been gone,’ he said. The smirk he cast Layton reminded him just a little of Clive, in the levels of mischievousness it implied. Luke started to walk off again, not in the direction of the house but of the town.

‘Where are you going?’ Layton called.

‘None of your business,’ Luke replied.


End file.
